


An Immodest Proposal

by LucyQ



Category: AUSTEN Jane - Works, Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: Angst, Canon over fanon, Counter-narrative, Darcy Is a Hot Mess, Drama, Elizabeth is Darcy's mistress, Elizabeth may be a hotter mess, Eventual HEA, F/M, He wanted to marry her, Humour, I'm a history geek, Implied family violence, Improper women, Mature and difficult themes, Regency, Regency politics, Romance, Sexual Content, historical realism, it was her idea, occasional bad language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:27:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25223878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LucyQ/pseuds/LucyQ
Summary: After the cruel and unhappy marriages of Mrs. Bennet and Jane, Elizabeth is determined that wedding bells will never be her fate. So when rich and arrogant Mr. Darcy makes her an offer, she makes him a counter-offer of her own: to be his mistress, but not his wife.
Relationships: Elizabeth Bennet & Charlotte Lucas, Elizabeth Bennet & Jane Bennet, Elizabeth Bennet/Fitzwilliam Darcy
Comments: 278
Kudos: 333





	1. Foreword / Proposal and Counter-Proposal

**FOREWORD**

To understand what this story means to me, you need to know that about three weeks ago, I was banned from Meryton.com, a charitable status organization that runs A Happy Assembly (AHA), a popular Jane Austen Fanfic (JAFF) website.

It was OK. I had exiled myself two years ago, so this was little more than the official confirmation, or maybe reciprocation. 

Also banned, a day or so before me, was Penina, an AHA member almost from its inception in 2007. Fathima, a 3-year member who had been posting a modern fic of rare beauty and sophistication, quit when she learned of Penina’s banning. All of which feels not OK to me, although I can’t presume to speak for them. 

We are all people of colour (POC). We had been participating in a discussion thread titled “How to make JAFF more inclusive,” me breaking my silence to do it. 

We were all, I think, a little upset at the premise of the initial post, which is that JAFF is a white space, there are hardly any POC writing and participating in JAFF, and therefore white writers must take it upon themselves to write more POC into their stories to give us some presence.

I was also exasperated at the direction of the conversation -- all of these presumably white writers were in a sad tizzy thinking they had to shoehorn a bunch of POC into their fics and wondering how they could afford to pay for the diversity consultants needed to do it without giving offence. 

So I bulled into the discussion to point out the site had once had available to it -- free, gratis! -- one of the most diverse and prolific minority voices out there, JRTT, a writer of colour whose ousting by the site administrators over her propensity to speak her mind had led to my self-exile. 

By that time, one writer had already hearkened to the valuable advice JRTT had offered her on diversity, and Fathima had pointed out that any time minority issues get raised on the site -- e.g., the portrayal of India and the East India Company, or any discussion about slavery, racism or colonialism -- it quickly got dismissed, then shut down by the site administrators. Penina joined in to say it had happened to her -- most recently when she had insisted in a _Mansfield Park_ discussion that Sir Thomas Bertram’s participation in slavery could not be considered a negligible factor in any accurate assessment of his character.

To their credit, most of the thread participants got it quickly. The original poster apologized for implying JAFF is a white space and agreed the real solution was to encourage POC to speak for themselves. Another contributed good research links to minority perspectives and suggested the site add guidelines against racist content to all of their other guidelines so that POC could feel more comfortable and included. Another suggested the best way to balance the site’s desire to keep AHA a safe space for those seeking mindless escapism was to create a forum especially marked “controversial” where difficult topics could be aired. 

The site admins did not get it. They said the thread had gone “off-topic” by straying from the narrow subject of how white writers can write POC into their stories; that we were just airing “personal grievances”; and that if we didn’t like the way they moderated, we should “feel free to find another site that aligns with (our) preferences.” And then they banned Penina, Fathima quit and I got banned -- so that people could discuss “How to make JAFF more inclusive“ without including the outspoken POC. 

Which shows, IMO, that the site admins have a blind spot. 

But on the other hand, maybe we all do. Because when I showed the thread to two white people whose opinions I value -- my own diversity consultants if you will, although I call them _my husband_ and _my friend_ \-- along with their sympathy was a plea for forbearance for the other side*: “When you used a phrase like ‘white-dominated moderators,’ they may have just heard the r-word and got terrified and shut down. And then the conversation was doomed.” 

Which, OK, I admit, I do not really get. But maybe that’s because, just as the site admins have not walked a mile in my shoes, I have not walked a mile in theirs. Maybe I _am_ scary. (Really? LOL.) Maybe they _do_ have valid reasons. Maybe the only way to preserve AHA as a place of joy and happiness for everybody else _is_ to define the issues of minorities as offensive, and their passion for those issues as offensive, and then moderate off the site the ones who dare to speak up. 

Or maybe it isn’t the only way, but it’s the only thing the site admins -- in all their human limitations that we all share -- can figure out to do at this time. Given more time, maybe they will figure out a better way. Because as one of them said, just before banning me: _We are only volunteers. We have feelings too._

How the heck would I know? My part in the conversation was ended before I could learn anything further. 

Which brings me to my story posting today. _An Immodest Proposal_ (AIP) was conceived at AHA. I wrote it when JRTT and I felt like we had targets on our backs and walked on eggshells in anticipation of the next AHA moderator message requiring our silence or deletion of posts. 

Its purpose was to carve out a small space where we could have our say, because too often when we tried, somebody felt offended and would file a complaint -- or so we were told anyway, as the site admins told of many complainants and many complaints but never showed us any. 

AIP has little to do with race per se, and JRTT’s ousting and my self-exile does not, to my knowledge, have anything to do with race. However, it does have to do with marginalization. It has to do with being an outsider and thinking and saying things those in power do not want to hear. It is intended as a counter-narrative to the master narrative that concludes that there is only one way of being right, that important people are always right, and that anybody who questions that -- no matter what they have contributed in other ways -- is a troublemaker and a bad person. 

To write AIP, I had to appropriate a host of identities that are foreign to me: white people and British people; Regency aristocrats and gentry; the writer of a mistress story -- because sometimes to be properly heard, you need to speak in another guise.

As it is a tale of outsiders, I also had to tell of people who have always existed in the Regency, but don’t often get much play (even brilliant JA had her blind spots): servants, a Black man and former slave, illiterate labourers, and Methodists and evangelical Christians. (Yes, Christians can suffer marginalization too, and some of them sure did in the Regency.) And if I have been insensitive or offensive in any of those portrayals, just say so, because maybe I'll learn something and you have a right and a need to express yourself too.

In this fic, Elizabeth is not a good, proper and passive woman, but an angry one. In her anger, she rejects Darcy’s proposal to join a power structure that has brought her only pain and instead determines to use one man’s overwhelming love and desire to buy a seat at the table to write her own story. 

What happens next is not what either of them expect. And they misspeak and misunderstand, hurt each other, and sometimes have to separate for their own health and sanity. But because the door is never fully closed -- because they eventually learn to communicate and understand -- they are not doomed to a lifetime of eternal separation from the Other. In the end, they do find some common ground, and use it to begin a better world. 

_P.S. The story is not quite finished, although, as others have said, it has been previously posted to a good place. I intend to complete it here, with major and minor edits to fix the clumsiness of the initial narrative. Whether or not this story ever comes to a final end, the conversation, I hope, will always go on._

*OVERDUE UPDATE: My diversity consultants protest that in no way were they pleading for forbearance or condoning what the AHA admins did, they were merely trying to help me understand how the white admins viewed it and why they were reacting the way they did, which is exactly what I asked them to do. I apologize for any misrepresentation of my husband's and my friend's stance. 

_***_

**TABLE OF CONTENTS**

1\. Proposal and Counter-Proposal

2\. The Response

3\. Family Ties

4\. Crossing Over

5\. Losing It

6\. A Modest Beginning 

7\. Spring Idylls 

8\. A Party

9\. An Altercation

10\. A Separation 

11\. Reconciliation

12\. Gone Fishing

13\. Lady Sophia

14\. Decisions

15\. Reflections

16\. Flight

17\. A New Home

18\. Sisters

19\. A Meeting

20\. Discussions

21\. Good-byes

22\. Peace at Pemberley

23\. An Unwanted Visit

24\. A Very Unwanted Visit

25\. Mr. Darcy is Summoned

26\. Tories, Whigs and Radicals

27\. The Rehabilitation of a Fallen Woman

28\. The Writ is Dropped

29\. Another Party

30\. Epilogue

**CHAPTER 1 - PROPOSAL AND COUNTER-PROPOSAL**

Lizzy Bennet, age 10, stared up in awe at the tiers of the Royal Theatre. She had never seen such a spectacle. The men were terribly handsome, the women positively glittering.

Suddenly, a hush fell over the crowd, followed by an eruption of whispering, pointing and catcalls. Lizzy turned her head to where the crowd’s attention was directed. A beautifully dressed young lady had entered a well-lit box near the stage. She was accompanied by another woman, not quite so young and lovely, and a number of well-dressed and clearly wealthy men who paid her the greatest deference. 

“That’s Miss Wilson … “1

“Scandalous … “

“Fifteen hundred a year, _I_ heard _and_ her own apartment in Mayfair … ”

“Oh yes, head over heels, my dear. He _must_ be…”

“Who is that?” asked Lizzy of her aunt, Mrs. Gardiner.

“It is nobody, my dear. Do not look, I pray,” said Mrs. Gardiner.

“Why ever not? She is a very pretty woman.”

“She is not a proper lady, Lizzy,” said Mr. Gardiner. “You must keep your eyes to the stage.”

But she could not. The whispering around her had grown intense and the actors’ voices could not be heard over it. 

“Should not be allowed…”

“Look at them, all their tongues hanging out! Improper, _I_ say … “

“I dunno … seems to have more fun than them wives over there. Look at them, ever so green …”

“That’s the Duke of – and the Earl of -- . Lords of the land, they say. Who’s lording it now? She’s got them good and proper … “

Lizzy’s head whirled.

_***_

_Approximately ten years later_

“In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.” 

Elizabeth stared, coloured, doubted and was silent. Mr. Darcy loved her! All of this time she had assumed he hated her! And yet here he was, his eyes tormented, his agitation extreme. 

“I realize, of course, that a connexion formed between a man of my birth and consequence and a woman of your sphere will not be countenanced by society -- indeed I scarcely know how to countenance it myself. Yet I have _tried_ to put you from my mind. I have _tried_ to fix my affections on more fitting and proper objects. To no avail.” 

She had opened her mouth to respond after his initial confession, but at this last statement, she closed her mouth again with a faint snap. _More fitting and proper objects_? 

But he, pacing around the room and back to stand before her, did not see her expression of indignation.

“The first time we met at the assembly at Meryton -- little did I know that there, among the insignificant landowners and linen drapers and greengrocers of a small country town, I would find my future wife. ‘You must meet Mr. Sandys’s daughters, the eldest especially,’ the master of ceremonies had said before I could escape. And then I was facing you and you were laughing at me: ‘It is a ball, not a funeral, sir. Be so good as to _pretend_ to enjoy a dance with me.’ Do you remember?” 

She remembered. He had been very proud and very rude, to come into their company to look down on them all. He had deserved her set-down, delivered sweetly and archly to avoid giving any overt offence for which she could be punished by her stepfather.

“I think I knew then, though I feared it. I knew I should not consider you, _I_ \-- Fitzwilliam Darcy, master of the Pemberley estates, nephew to the Earl Fitzwilliam, grand-nephew of the Marquis of Rockingham -- to consider allying with _you_ , the unknown daughter of a country wine merchant! But by the end of the dance, there was little else I could think of. You were lovely, Elizabeth. You _are_ lovely — you can have no idea how bewitching you are when you look at a man just so. I knew there was no escape, though I struggled for months more against so irrational a scheme. Elizabeth -”

Her eyes widened at his bold use of her Christian name. At the intake of her breath, he took a step closer, sank to one knee and tenderly took her hand. “Elizabeth, I will not hold it against you. I will not even remember it, though our alliance will impair my estate and expose me to the scorn of all society. Henceforth we will be one, joined in hand and mind, and one day, in body -- if you will only consent to be my wife.” 

For a moment, she stared as he held her hand and gazed eagerly into her face. The arrogance! The insufferable presumption! To call her his wife before he had even delivered his proposal! To make free with her name and take her hand without asking! Were _her_ thoughts, _her_ wishes, of so little consequence to him? 

She opened her lips to deliver a stinging setdown, then caught his look of eager anticipation. So he was sure he knew what she would say, was he? An impish idea blossomed in her mind, an idea she and her friend Charlotte Collins had teased each other with, laughing at its ridiculousness. Before she could think twice against it, she spoke. 

“Mr. Darcy, I will _not_ consent to be your wife,” she said sweetly. “But I would be prepared to be your mistress, if you will give me the terms I seek.“

“What?”

She wanted to laugh out loud at his recoil, and the dumbfounded expression on his face. Good, let him learn never to make assumptions where a lady was concerned. 

“I said, I would be prepared to be your mistress,” she repeated, her eyes glinting with humour. Oh, if only her dear Papa was still alive, how he would have laughed at her outrageousness and the absurdity of the situation, even as he scolded. _But Papa, for what else do we live but to make sport of our neighbours? Had you not told me so often enough?_

Darcy released her hand and leant on his knee. “My _mistress_? You do not understand. I am offering you a place as my wife.”

“Yes,” said Elizabeth, schooling her expression into seriousness. “But I am not interested in that. I would prefer to be your mistress. It would give me greater freedom and independence to lead the life I wish to lead.”

“But … but … you would be Mrs. Darcy. You would have standing and influence as the mistress of Pemberley. It is my estate in Derbyshire, a very great estate in Derbyshire.”

“Yes, I know all of that. I have heard about Pemberley, Mr. Darcy. But I would prefer a life close to Town. And I do not wish for a husband to tell me what to do, who I may be friends with and when I may see my family.”

“But that is the proper role of a husband.”

“Precisely. And that is why I do not wish for one.” 

Darcy was silent, stunned.

“Mr. Darcy?” 

Darcy got off his knees and absently groped behind himself for a chair, found it and sat down across from her, a confused look on his face.

“Mr. Darcy?”

“I am sorry,” he said, fixing his eyes on her face again. “I never envisioned you would have such a response. I need a moment to collect my wits.”

“Of course.” 

She waited patiently and after a few moments, when the look of confusion had left his face, he spoke again.

“I thought when I met a woman I could love, she would wish to be my wife.” 

“Perhaps another lady would have. You certainly owe _me_ no obligation. I encourage you to seek the hand of another lady if that is your desire.” She smiled at him encouragingly. _Yes, go. Go importune another woman and leave me in peace._

He looked at her swiftly. “It is not. However, I have never had a mistress. It is not something I have ever considered.” 

She shrugged, unconcerned. Perhaps it was true. Marriage to a docile and obedient wife entirely at his disposal would certainly suit him much better than a mistress with her fickle demands and desires. So long as _she_ did not have to be his wife! She wondered how to end the interview.

“I am not saying it is something I _would_ never consider, however,” he continued. “What do you envision to be your terms?” 

Her eyes widened and she had to stop herself from laughing out loud. He believed her! He actually thought she was serious! But she had her answer at the ready. She and Charlotte had discussed it many times, daydreaming. _How far would you go in order to purchase an independence that allowed you to live as you pleased? How much would you demand?_

She said glibly: “Two thousand pounds on entry into the relationship, my own apartment, a carriage purchased in my name, all my expenses paid and an additional two thousand pounds when you sever the arrangement."

His eyebrows lifted. "That seems rather high."

"I do not deny it,” she said coolly. She knew there was no way he would pay such sums, not when any number of lovely women might be had for a small fraction of such a sum. But he would wonder, and it would torture him. Oh yes, she had read the desire in his eyes when he looked at her.

He looked at her appraisingly. "I would need complete fidelity."

"Of course. Terminable by you without severance upon proof of my infidelity."

He considered. “I will need to think about this before I make any final commitment. Again, I did not come here today seeking a mistress.”

She gave him a glimmer of a smile. “No, but apparently she seeks you.”

He leant forward in his chair and seized her hand again. “Elizabeth, I love you. I would have made you my wife if you agreed.”

His words smote her and for a moment she hesitated before the earnest expression in his eyes. Was it, perhaps, a little _too_ cruel to make sport of a man’s feelings? Then she dismissed the thought. No, if he could not even pay her the respect of waiting for her to speak before assuming her decision, any feelings he had for her must be imaginary. And what did this man, with his wealth and power and ability to order everybody about, know about the cruelty of life? Mayhap it would do him good to have a small taste of it.

He continued. “What happens … what happens if you tire of _me_? Can you leave me?”

“Yes, if I tire of you, then I may end the relationship at any time, without payment of severance by you.”

“I do not like the sound of that.”

“Why not? It is fair. You will be none the loser.”

“But what if I pay you to enter into the arrangement, only to have you sever it immediately?”

Elizabeth pondered this. “Yes, that is unfair. I suppose I could guarantee you a minimum amount of time. Say … three months?”

“Three months!” He shook his head sharply in the negative. 

“Six months?”

“One year.”

“Six months is all I can promise,” she said firmly. 

In reality, it could not have lasted more than one week. By then they would have surely quarreled. But six months would have given her two thousand pounds, or even more, if he tired of her first. It was enough to live on — more than enough to run away with Jane on.

It was a pretty thought, and for a moment she wished he would actually go through with it. 

He nodded. “And now?” 

“Now?” 

“What happens now?” 

She shrugged indifferently. “If you wish to proceed, then I suppose we must retain attorneys to effect the arrangement.” 

“And then?”

“Once that is done, I will need to return home to arrange things, say good-bye to my family. But then I can come to you. Perhaps … in two weeks?” 

She saw the tiny, imperceptible flare of his nostrils and watched as his heavy-lidded gaze swept over her. Oh, she was bad, she was wicked, to tease a man so! But oh, he so richly deserved it. 

“Two weeks, then.” 

He picked up his hat and gloves and cane from the table where he had laid them, paused on the threshold to cast one last, lingering look at her, then bowed and left. 

***

**FOOTNOTES:**

  1. Harriette Wilson (1786-1845) was born to respectable beginnings as the daughter of a London clockmaker and laundress. Expressing a great cynicism about men and marriage, she decided to follow in her older sister’s footsteps to become a courtesan. At the age of 15, she became mistress of the 1st Earl of Craven (an interesting man with a remarkable mother, but we won’t get into that). From there, she went on to count many of the most illustrious names of the day as her lovers and clients -- the Duke of Wellington, the Duke of Argyle, the future Duke of Beaufort, et al. In 1825, Wilson published _The Memoirs of Harriette Wilson, Written by Herself._ While a bestseller, it is likely that she made far more money blackmailing people for her silence than she did from book sales. Jane Austen makes reference to Wilson in a letter to Cassandra, in which she described the handsome and charming Lord Craven’s new young mistress as his “little flaw.” 



© 2017 by "LucyQ" at Meryton.com, "LucyQT" at Fanfiction.net and "LucyQ" at Archiveofourown.org ALL RIGHTS RESERVED


	2. The Response

Darcy strode into the sitting room of the gentlemen's guest quarters at Rosings Park and went directly to the sideboard to pour himself a stiff drink. When he proceeded to throw it down and pour himself another, Colonel Fitzwilliam’s eyebrows raised. 

“Trouble, cousin?” Colonel Fitzwilliam inquired, straightening up from the billiard table where he had his shot nicely lined up. 

Darcy only shook his head as he downed his second drink, his eyes closed. When he proceeded to pour himself a third, Colonel Fitzwilliam smiled pleasantly and leant on his cue. 

“I do not dispute that an evening with our esteemed aunt undiluted by outside company requires fortification, but you are beginning a little early, are you not? If you continue in this vein, you will be under the table before you sit down to it, and then she will turn her attention to me.” He shuddered. 

Darcy’s only response was to pull out his cravat and throw himself onto the sofa, then take another gulp of whiskey. Colonel Fitzwilliam looked at him curiously. 

“Did Miss Bennet refuse you?” 

Darcy looked at him quickly. “You knew about that?” 

His cousin shrugged. “You were rather obvious. You do not normally stare at women as if you would burn holes into their head. A lesser woman than Miss Bennet might have found it intimidating. Could that be why she refused you?”

“She did not refuse me.” 

Colonel Fitzwilliam whistled. “Well then, there will be hell to pay. I will have my batman pack me up tonight and be ready to depart at dawn tomorrow.”

“What? Why do you have to depart?” 

“So we can put some distance between ourselves and Lady Catherine and my parents before you inform them of the happy news, of course. My friend has a lovely grouse moor in Scotland, I expect we can go there until the furor dies down.” 

Darcy gave him a withering glare. “Please stop being ridiculous. She did not accept my offer, and I am in no mood for your jokes.” 

Colonel Fitzwilliam smiled whimsically and said under his breath, “People seldom are when they are the butt of them.” He added, more loudly, “So she did not refuse you and she did not accept you, What is the problem, Darcy? Are Miss Bennet’s demands higher than you expected? Just because her family is nobody and she hasn’t a penny to her name, does not mean she would be satisfied with nothing in the way of pin-money and carriages. Why not give a little, you have plenty. I call it shrewd myself, and will salute her for it when next I see -- ” 

“She offered to be my mistress.” 

Colonel Fitzwilliam’s flow of speech came to an abrupt end, like a trickling stream crashing into a rock wall. He put his billiard cue carefully on the table, walked over to the sideboard to pour himself a large tumbler of whiskey, then came and sat down by his cousin. After a few sips and a few moments of silence, he said, with vicious emphasis, “You lucky dog.” 

Darcy turned his head sharply. “ _Lucky_? I told you, she rejected my proposal of marriage.” 

“Yes, but you do not really want to _marry_ her. Pemberley allied to the Hertfordshire House of Wine, Spirits & Other Fine Liquors?” He shuddered. “This way you receive everything you want, without any of the drawbacks, and you did not even have to be put in the position of making an invidious proposal to a gentlewoman.” 

Darcy shook his head angrily, then looked away. 

“You are accepting, of course.” 

“I have not yet decided.” 

Colonel Fitzwilliam looked at him in dismay. “You must accept! It is quite likely that such an offer will never fall your way again. _I_ have never heard of such a thing.” 

Darcy looked at his cousin again. “Why did she not accept me? Do you have reason to think she dislikes me?”

“None at all,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said honestly. “In fact, she seems to rather enjoy plaguing you. It is a refreshing style, although I cannot say it would have brought on an offer from _me_. How much is she asking, by the way?” 

Darcy told him. Colonel Fitzwilliam’s eyebrows spiked heavenward again. 

“Miss Bennet does not sell herself cheaply.” 

“I am not concerned with the money.” 

“No. But even so.” Colonel Fitzwilliam tapped on his teeth. “I suppose she knew, after you made your proposal, that she held the whip hand. Yes, you were doomed from that point. You should never have mentioned marriage, Darcy. You made yourself the weaker party in the negotiations.” 

“I was not trying to _negotiate_.” 

Colonel Fitzwilliam continued as if he had not spoken. “Even so, it is a lucky escape. Yes, it might have been worse. She might have agreed to your proposal and then you would have been stuck. You _are_ a lucky dog, Darcy.”

“What are you talking about?” 

Colonel Fitzwilliam rose to fetch the decanter, then brought it back to refill Darcy’s glass. He said, looking at his cousin hard as if to brace him for the news, “Clearly, this is not Miss Bennet’s first time.” 

Darcy recoiled in horror. “You think she has done this before?” 

“Perhaps not this exact thing. But clearly _someone_ has been there before or she would not have even suggested such a thing. It may be that she loves him still. Perhaps she is doing this so that they may be together.” 

His words propelled Darcy out of the chair and set him pacing. 

“No! No, I will not be party to such a thing! If she thinks she can use me for my money while she pines after another man --” 

“I cannot see that you have much choice,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam, lounging in most un-military fashion. 

Darcy rounded on his heel to confront his cousin. “I can refuse her.” 

“Very well. Refuse her. Never see her again. Is that what you want?” 

In reply, Darcy only turned away, striding to the window to look out. But his cousin’s words followed him inexorably. 

“Or refuse her, only to see her on the arm of another man, who is enjoying her smiles and her favours, and a chance to win her heart. Does that picture seem more enticing?” He knew from the rigid set of Darcy’s shoulders, and the way they rose and fell with his breath, that his point had gone home.

After a moment, Darcy turned around and leant against the window sill. 

“What am I to do?” 

“Accept her offer. Enjoy yourself, but guard your heart. At the end of six months -- throw the little baggage out! That will teach her to trifle with a man of family and substance.” 

Darcy frowned. At his expression, Colonel Fitzwilliam shrugged. 

“Or continue to keep her, if that is your preference. But really, it is providential. Six months of bliss and a lifetime of memories, and then you can accept any of the heiresses foisted upon you by my Lady Mama.” 

He picked up Darcy’s glass from the table and brought it over to him, pouring him another generous portion of whiskey. 

“Here. It is nearly time to dress for dinner, but we can write my attorney first thing in the morning. There is nothing easier than these sorts of things, believe me.” 

He looked pointedly at the glass Darcy held in his hand. Darcy shook off his reverie and looked at his cousin.

“To love,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam. His tone was dry. 

They both drank. 

***

Elizabeth did not see Darcy for the remainder of the week. It appeared that her immodest proposal had frightened him so well that he had fled Rosings to escape her pollution. The thought gave her a chuckle -- apparently she had happened on the most effective means to rid oneself of an unwanted suitor! Perhaps she should write a treatise to that effect and publish it anonymously.

Any further thoughts on the matter were driven from her head when the post arrived, bearing a letter from Jane -- the weekly letter that her husband permitted her to write. Elizabeth opened it at Hunsford and scanned it eagerly for news, then betook herself to the park to enjoy it at greater leisure. 

The letter contained no actual complaint, nor was there any communication of present suffering. Jane even assured her sister that she was improved in health and was enjoying some of the distractions of the London season -- she had attended a benefit concert given by the wife of one of her husband’s friends, and had been taken to a play, she wrote. Yet Elizabeth fancied there was a want of cheerfulness, a greater effort that had to be exerted, to maintain the habitual facade of serenity. She had to take deep breaths several times as she read the letter, and by the time she finished, she struggled against the onset of tears. 

Elizabeth was so absorbed in her thoughts that she did not notice Darcy step out from the path and hurry over to her, and did not look up until his shadow fell upon her. 

“Oh!” she said. 

“Miss Bennet.” He bowed, then looked at her letter. “I hope I am not disturbing you.” 

Elizabeth hastily folded up her letter and rose, forcing a smile. “You are, sir, but it does not follow that the interruption must be unwelcome.” 

“I have been considering our last conversation” -- too late, Elizabeth remembered the farce that was their last conversation and blushed -- “and I wonder if you would do me the honour of reading my proposal.” 

Elizabeth was too astonished to resist the package he presented to her. 

“I apologize for the delay, but there was some back and forth with the attorney, and ultimately a trip to Town was required. Nevertheless, I believe it captured everything we spoke of. You may even find it a slight improvement.” At her continued surprised silence, he said, “I will leave you now, and walk the grove and return in hope of your answer.” 

And after looking hard at her one last time, he suited his action to his word. 

For a moment, Elizabeth stared at his stiff, retreating figure. Then she sat back down and broke the seal. It contained a letter from his attorney, a Mr. Hicks, followed by a form of deed of trust. It was closely written, in complex language, and in her fever of excitement she had to read it several times. Nevertheless, its meaning was plain enough. 

If she entered into an arrangement of cohabitation with Mr. Darcy, twenty-five hundred pounds would immediately be put in trust for her, to be transferred to her sole possession at the end of a six-month term, provided only that she remain faithful and devoted to him for the duration.1 In addition to this, she would receive another twenty-five hundred pounds if at any time Mr. Darcy chose to sever the arrangement.2 He would also pay all of her expenses, on a reasonable and generous basis, and provide her with a carriage, residence in or near town, servants, etc. for the length of the arrangement. He had even made provision for children: they were to be relinquished to his care, and educated and outfitted for a respectable occupation or marriage, as required in the circumstances.3

She could see Darcy already emerging from the shrubbery and coming toward her on the path, but it did not matter. She knew what she would do. She had known it as soon as she had realized that he was calling her bluff. Looking at the two letters she held in her hands, it seemed an easy choice.

“Miss Bennet.” 

“Mr. Darcy.” She rose and gave him a sunny smile. “I confess I had not expected you to take my offer seriously.” 

“Do you not wish to proceed, then?” 

“Not at all. When you have been so generous? Perhaps it was not wise on your part, but for mine, I must say I find your proposal irresistible.” 

His face, immobile until then, seemed to relax slightly and he returned her smile. He picked up her bonnet from the rock where she had left it, then gave it to her and they walked down the path. 

“You will want to have your own attorney review it, of course,” he said conversationally. “If you need assistance going to Town to speak to him, I would be happy to undertake your travel arrangements.” 

“Thank you, but it is not necessary. Lady Catherine has generously offered me a seat in her carriage going to Town to fetch her friends, so my visit with Mrs. Collins is almost at an end in any case.”

They spoke of logistics and pleasantries for a few more minutes. Just before the intersection of the path, where one fork led to Rosings and the other to the parsonage, he paused by the tall shrubberies. 

“Yes, Mr. Darcy?” she asked, seeing that he was looking at her expectantly. 

“I will leave you now, as I have an engagement for the remainder of the afternoon.” 

“I wish you good day, then.” 

“If I do not see you again before your departure, you have my direction from my attorney. If there is anything you need, please do not hesitate to write.” 

“Thank you.” 

When he still did not move from the spot, she said, “I will bid you adieu now, Mr. Darcy.” 

“Miss Bennet.” 

“Yes?” 

“I believe it is customary in such arrangements to seal the bargain with a kiss.” 

“Oh!” 

She had never kissed a man before. Not that she foresaw any difficulty with the act, as it seemed straightforward enough and she was not an ignorant child. But she had not expected to do it _today_. She eyed him warily, taking in his tall, imposing figure, arms crossed over his chest. The brim of his hat was pulled slightly over his eyes, shading them so that she could not read his expression. She noticed his lips, elegantly formed, their warm fullness contrasting with the otherwise ascetic planes of his face. A stranger’s mouth, curved upward in a small smile. 

She drew herself up with dignity. "As I said, the arrangement is not yet finalized as I still wish for my attorney to review it. But be assured that I shall meet all of my obligations when the time comes."

There was a brief silence, then the corner of his mouth twitched and he inclined his head in acquiescence. 

"Of course, Miss Bennet. I will look forward to it." 

His voice was a low rumble, as if amused. Was he laughing at her? Before she could produce a sharp retort, he tipped his hat and gestured for her to proceed. She wondered, as she walked down the path leading to Hunsford Parsonage with her head held high, whether he was still standing there looking after her or had struck out on his own way. But she kept her face determinedly turned away, glad that he could not see her burning cheeks. 

***

**FOOTNOTES:**

1\. A prospective mistress contract, or agreement for future cohabitation, was held void and unenforceable on the grounds of immorality. To get around this, Darcy has proposed an arrangement whereby he would pay funds at the outset in trust to a lawyer, who would be under the trust obligation to transfer the funds to Elizabeth at the end of a six-month term, when she had presumably fulfilled her minimum obligation. Such an agreement was governed by the law of equity, and could not be unwound by the man if he came with “unclean hands” -- i.e., participated in the immoral contract. However, it could be unwound to relieve him of his obligation to pay if his hands remained clean -- i.e., if the immoral cohabitation had not taken place. See for example the case of _Sismey v Eley_ , reported in _Chitty’s Index to All the Reported Cases,_ 1885, p. 1788.

2\. Regency courts regularly enforced pensions and severance payments at the termination of a cohabitation arrangement. As they reasoned, while a money-for-sex arrangement was void on the grounds of immorality, an end payment did not constitute money-for-sex, but rather money to _stop_ having sex, which was fine. See p. 516 on “immoral contracts” in _A Practical Treatise on the Law of Contracts: Not Under Seal; and Upon the Usual Defences to …_ by Joseph Chitty, 1834. 

3\. The amounts discussed here, while generous, were not beyond the range of the Regency aristocracy. Case law suggests that mistress pensions of £100 to £300 per annum were common. At the going rate of 3% to 5% in government funds, this would need capital of about £2,000 to £9,000 to generate. 

© 2017 by "LucyQ" at Meryton.com, "LucyQT" at Fanfiction.net and "LucyQ" at Archiveofourown.org ALL RIGHTS RESERVED


	3. Family Ties

The Gardiner carriage stopped before the stately Mayfair residence of Sir Henry and Lady Blemmell and Elizabeth stepped out. Knocking on the door, she was admitted directly by the butler and shown up to Lady Blemmell's boudoir on the first storey.

At the sight of her, the footman standing in the hall stepped forward to knock and, at Lady Blemmell's gentle invitation, opened the door with a bow.

"Jane!" Elizabeth cried, rushing forward.

"Elizabeth!" Jane dropped her embroidery and rose to embrace her sister.

Elizabeth frowned. Her sister looked peaked and it seemed to Elizabeth that she had winced a little in the embrace.

"Did he hurt you again?" Elizabeth whispered fiercely, glancing over her shoulder at the door, which Sir Henry insisted must always remain ajar, with a footman posted beside it.

"No … no, Lizzy. I am well."

"Jane, tell me the truth," said Elizabeth sternly, though still in the same low tone. "I am your sister. We have never had concealments from each other."

Jane looked up and her eyes were full of shame. "It was my fault, Lizzy. I had dropped the teapot at breakfast and the tea had spilled all over Sir Henry's letters. There were several important ones he had been expecting."

"That is _not_ an excuse for what he does," Elizabeth flared.

Jane only shook her head and changed the subject, saying in a louder voice, "How was your visit to Kent? How is your dear old friend Charlotte?"

Jane had not seen Charlotte in five years, not since she had married at age sixteen to Sir Henry, thirty-three years her senior, and gone to live with him. That had been an eventful year in their lives. After Mr. Bennet's death, Mrs. Bennet had remarried to her current husband, Mr. Sandys, a prosperous wine merchant who lived in the area.

"Charlotte is well, quite astonished still at her good fortune in catching Mr. Collins of both Longbourn and Hunsford Parsonage," Elizabeth observed wryly. "As for my visit? It was … eventful. I have much to tell you."

"About Hunsford Parsonage?" Jane widened her eyes and smiled with a ghost of her former sparkle. "Did you not write me that spending four weeks in the company of Mr. Collins and his equally silly curate would mean the graveyard for all your hopes of sense and sensibility?"

"Oh! Well, Charlotte and I amused ourselves at coming up with new ways for her to bow and scrape to Mr. Collins and his patron, Lady Catherine. But it was not just that," said Elizabeth. "I received a surprise offer of marriage."

"From whom?"

"Mr. Darcy."

Jane frowned. "Mr. Darcy? Lady Catherine's nephew and that proud and disagreeable man you had to dance with at the Meryton Assembly?"

"The very same."

"And … and … what did you say?" Jane looked at her sister with trepidation.

"Do not worry, my dear sister. I did not accept his proposal."

Jane looked relieved. "Thank heaven. I know how much you dislike him, and from your letters, he certainly does not sound like a good man." She looked nervous again. "Does Mr. Sandys know?"

Mr. Sandys's strictness as a father was matched only by his greed and ambition. If he knew that Elizabeth had received an offer of marriage from a wealthy man, both sisters knew that he would bring considerable pressure to bear to make her accept.

Elizabeth shook her head vigorously at Jane's question. "I do not think so. Mr. Darcy made no mention of speaking to Mr. Sandys. In any case, it does not matter." She took a deep breath and said, dropping her voice again, "Jane, dearest Jane. I am going to do something very wicked."

Jane smiled wryly. "Are you, my dear? Is it more wicked than mixing the spoons in with the forks after you wash them?"

Shortly after Mr. Sandys had entered their lives, he had decreed that his daughters could no longer lead the life of the idle rich, but must help out in the home. Their first attempts at housekeeping were so bad it would have been laughable had it not ended in a whipping for all five girls. In retrospect it was not nearly as bad as the whippings they received subsequently. But that first time, only Elizabeth, 14 and bristling with loud indignation on behalf of her sisters, had been cut until she bled, with Mr. Sandys stopping only when Jane had thrown herself into the fray and tried to take the lash for her. After that, whenever Mr. Sandys executed his fatherly duties to its highest degree, the sisters, salving each other's wounds, would refer to it as a "spoons and forks day."

"It is much more wicked than that," said Elizabeth soberly. "It is so wicked that even _you_ would deem it wicked. And you know you are the only living creature whose judgment I fear."

"I would never judge you, Lizzy. I know anything you do will be right."

"Do you?" Elizabeth smiled. "Then prepare yourself for something very awful, for I intend to test your forbearance. I offered to be Mr. Darcy's mistress."

From the silence, Elizabeth knew that her sister was shocked. But as this was fully expected, she felt no need to rush to explain herself.

"Why, Lizzy?"

"Why not, Jane? You know I have said I would never marry."

"I know," said Jane slowly. "But I thought you might change your mind. I thought perhaps if you met a kind, decent man, who would respect you and love you for who you are … "

"I am convinced such a creature does not exist. Or if he does, he is as rare as a winning lottery ticket, and can be revealed only after one is irrevocably committed. Happiness in marriage is entirely a matter of chance, Jane, and I am not so foolish as to accept the odds. And thus - my choice is between abject poverty, continuing with our stepfather or this."

"Oh, Lizzy." Jane looked at her sister with eyes full of worry. "It is not that I judge you. But is it _safe_?"

"Safe?"

"Men have such power," she whispered. "Once they have you in their control ... You do not know, Lizzy. You have only experienced Mr. Sandys, and all he ever did was whip us. But a husband … they can be infinitely worse."

Jane trembled a bit and Elizabeth put her arms around her gently and held her until the trembling stopped. Her heart swelled with rage and indignation. Her sister had been so full of hope and good intentions when Sir Henry, a customer of Mr. Sandys, had first spied her working in Mr. Sandys's shop. She was still full of good intentions, but the hope was long gone, replaced by fear and a sad resignation that broke Elizabeth's heart every time she saw it.

"That is why I will never accept a husband, Jane," she said briskly, sitting back down in the chair opposite. "Wives must obey their husbands, but mistresses may do whatever they please. If he does not treat me with the most tender consideration, I shall throw him out."

"But then what will you do?" Jane asked fearfully. "Where will you go? Mr. Sandys would never allow you to return to his house and Sir Henry does not allow me any money so I would have nothing to send you. Will you have to continue, finding another man to protect you?"

"Perhaps I shall, if I find a decent one whom I can trust. Do not worry so!" she said at her sister's stricken face. "I have a plan. Mr. Darcy has offered me a large sum of money to become his mistress, and if I can make him fall _very_ in love with me, perhaps he will give me many expensive presents besides."

She explained the terms of the contract, glossing over the fact that she had to endure to the end of six months before she would receive any payment. There was no need to worry Jane.

"So you see, I shall be quite comfortable. Who knows? Perhaps I will become rich! Rich enough to run away with you," she added in an undertone.

Jane looked alarmed. She whispered, "No, Lizzy, do not think of that. It is too late for me. I am content, truly I am."

Elizabeth squeezed her hands fiercely. "You are _not_ content, Jane! Do not pretend. No woman should have to endure what you do."

"Lizzy, it is my fault too. Sir Henry married me to give him an heir and I have failed. Perhaps if I succeeded … "

"You _did_ succeed," Elizabeth whispered hotly. "You would have bore him a fine son if he had not lost his temper that day, and infected you with licentious diseases every other time ..." 

A spasm of pain passed over Jane's face at the mention of the lost babies. Elizabeth immediately looked contrite.

"Never mind! We shall not talk of this now. But perhaps one day, when I have a home of my own, you can come to me. Mary and Kitty too, if they wish to. We will have a nice cottage and grow flowers and turnips, and I shall have many stories to tell."

They planned and schemed for the remainder of the visit. Elizabeth explained that she intended to be incognito, adopting the name of Mrs. Smith and passing herself off as a young widow. That way, her name would not be about, and she would take care to wear veils when she went out in public. The only people who were likely to see her would be Mr. Darcy's men friends or other women like herself.

As for Mr. Sandys, he would no doubt disown her and deny her existence as soon as he read her note. Just as he did with Lydia, their youngest sister who had run off two years earlier with an officer. If Lydia ever attempted to write home, Mr. Sandys did not permit anybody to know, and her name was never again uttered in the vicinity of their home. She was dead to them, and thus Mr. Sandys' respectability flourished like a green bay tree. 

The sisters' final discussion was the most hushed of all, as they mulled over how Elizabeth might manage to get messages to Jane undetected. Sir Henry was quite open in reading Jane's mail, both incoming and outgoing, and frequently quizzed the servants on her movements to make sure she was not encountering any handsome young men who might be moved by her situation. The fact that he thought _Jane_ capable of such deceit and conniving was just more proof that he did not know her at all, Elizabeth reflected. Now if _she_ had been such a situation, she would have done everything she could to cheat him, and without an ounce of shame.

Standing on the steps a little later as she waited for the Gardiner carriage to come around, Elizabeth took a deep breath. It carried the usual smells of the city, but was still welcome respite from the oppressiveness of her brother's home, where everything seemed to watch her. 

The Gardiners' sole manservant touched his hat to her. "Home, Miss Bennet?" he inquired.

"Not yet, John," she said. "Take me to the Bazaar on Bond Street first. Mr. Sandys charged me with purchasing him a number of items."

This was true, but her real interest lay with the attorney tucked into the back of the bazaar, whom she and Mrs. Gardiner had consulted about Jane the last time she had been staying with the Gardiners in London. She had been impressed by his knowledge, but even more so by his discretion. She thought he could help her with Mr. Darcy's contract, or find her someone who could. And he could probably communicate directly with Mr. Darcy's attorney as well, to put the final touches on the papers.

* * *

© 2017 by "LucyQ" at Meryton.com, "LucyQT" at Fanfiction.net and "LucyQ" at Archiveofourown.org ALL RIGHTS RESERVED


	4. Crossing Over

Inside the mail coach, the other three passengers slept, but Elizabeth was wide awake. They were approaching the crossroads that marked the end of the neighbourhood of Meryton. In a moment they would be across and she would be cast out, perhaps never to return.

Overhead, the gallows that hung at the highway crossing as a warning to all wrongdoers reached high into the stygian darkness. Still, she could see - and smell - the gibbeted convicts who hung there in their cages and chains. One had been a woman, judging from the remnant of her pale gown, which flapped in the wind.

She had come to a bad end, whoever she was, Elizabeth thought. Perhaps a gently born lady who had slid into sin and regret, before succumbing to desperation and finally, the violent embrace of the scaffold.

Perhaps it was not too late to turn back. She had told no one where she was going, deciding in the end that saying good-bye to her sisters exposed them to too great a risk. She could demand that the coach stop now to let her out. It was six miles back to Meryton, to Mr. Sandys's handsome, modern house, and the Bennet girls' secure, confined existence. She knew the way, even in the dark. If she walked quickly, she could be there before daybreak. She could reclaim the note she had left in Mr. Sandys's office, slip into her cold bed, pretend the night had never been -

The coachman snapped the whip. The horses leapt forward. The coach raced into the night, toward its destination.

***

The emeralds sparkled under the bright lights of many Argand lamps and Darcy nodded his head to indicate his approval. The jeweller, Mr. Rundell,1 smiled at the acquisition of another customer of the best kind, a rich man besotted with his mistress. He closed the velvet lid lovingly over the expensive bauble and presented the box to Darcy, who slipped it in his pocket.

It was another expense, one Darcy had not planned for. But while he had plenty of precious gems at his disposal, one did not exactly put the family jewels on one's mistress.

His _mistress_. Darcy tested the word carefully, still undetermined if it brought more pleasure or pain. He thought about the meeting with Colonel Fitzwilliam's attorney and then his own solicitor, who had held the Darcy family retainer since his grandfather's time. The old man had not been happy to receive his instructions to liquidate one of his investments for the settlement.

"Your father would never have done such injury to the estate," said Mr. Hedworth in querulous disapproval. "Nor your great uncle the judge. Ah! They were fine gentlemen, not like these young lords who will go to the devil anyhow, gambling and whoring."

Darcy had rolled his eyes and shrugged. It was _his_ money, was it not? And what was a few thousand pounds to him? Had he not been a model heir since inheriting the estate, living well below his means and pouring everything extra into improving and expanding Pemberley?

"A man needs his pleasures, cousin," Colonel Fitzwilliam had teased him, clapping him on the shoulder. "It does not do to be too pure and perfect, or before you know it, you will turn into one of those stiff, moralizing busybodies, whose life is consumed with making sure everybody is as miserable as themselves. I see signs it is happening already."

Indeed. He had been a bugbear in Hertfordshire, brooding over the frailty of his sister, Georgiana, and the latest, fresh betrayal of his boyhood friend, George Wickham. Until he met Elizabeth. She had mocked his bad humour and teased him out of his misery. He had never met such a woman, who slew him with his own words and was indifferent to his - or anybody's - judgment. Her eyes had asked all the right questions and her body seemed to promise all of the answers he would need in this world and maybe the next one.

He frowned. He had made her an honourable offer and she had rejected it. This whole situation was not his idea, but hers.

***

The mail coach drew into the large coaching inn at exactly four o'clock in the morning. Given the early hour, the inn yard was quiet. She looked around. Had he kept his word? Would her new carriage be waiting for her as she had asked? Plain with no identifying marks, she had told her attorney, who had communicated with Mr. Darcy's attorney. And enclosed with shades, so she could drive without being seen. Other than that, small or secondhand, she did not care.

The only thing she could see was a smart barouche-landau with silver fittings, the black paint gleaming with newness. It was the type of carriage that fashionable women paraded proudly through Hyde Park. That was not it, surely? But the young coachman who had been napping atop the coach box, his hat over his eyes, had roused himself and was approaching her.

"Mrs. Smith?" he inquired.

She nodded. "You are employed by Mr. Darcy?"

"Yes, ma'am. I am your coachman. James is the name. This way, please, and then I will see to your luggage."

"There is no need. This is all I have."

It was all she could carry, knowing she had had two miles to walk in the dark from Mr. Sandys's house to the nearest posting inn. In any case, Mr. Darcy had told her he would provide for her and his attorney had given hers a silk purse bulging with coins for her travelling and other expenses. When she counted it, it came to forty pounds, far more than she had ever had in her possession. She liked the feel of it, secreted in a pocket in her gown. It gave her a feeling of security.

James took her meagre possessions and placed them in the boot.

"Where are we going?" she asked as she mounted the little steps he had unfolded for her and seated herself in the carriage. She was curious to see what lodgings Mr. Darcy could have found that granted her the privacy and anonymity she requested. Not Mayfair, surely, and hopefully nowhere near Gracechurch Street, where Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner lived.

"Kensington, ma'am," he said as he took the reins back from the yard-boy. "About a mile from Town."

That was clever of him. Kensington was a country area west of Hyde Park where the royal dukes and one of the princesses lived in a stately palace. Surrounding the royal grounds to the North, South and West were many small farms and commons, intermingled with the country homes of wealthy bankers and merchants who disliked the noise and crowds of the city. It would be easy to hide away in Kensington.

As the carriage pulled off the paved road onto a little used track hidden by trees, her approval turned to misgivings. Was the house, perhaps, a little _too_ isolated? Quickly she scanned the landscape, squinting in the darkness to make note of lanes and pathways and breaks in the trees that allowed for easy escape. She saw with relief that the trees were not really so thick except around the property itself and it was all open country beyond, with easily surmountable fences and barriers.

The house was a good-sized farmhouse, standing in a small clearing and kept in good repair. When the carriage entered the yard, a respectably dressed middle-aged woman greeted them and ushered her into the house to help her remove her things.

Inside, the house was furnished on a comfortable, even sumptuous, scale, though the drawing room was half the size of the one at Sandys House. The rest of the rooms on the ground floor consisted of kitchen and servants' quarters. That meant the bedchamber floor was upstairs.

"Would you like some breakfast, ma'am, or would you prefer to rest?" said the woman, who had introduced herself as Mrs. Worsley. "I can bring up a tray to your bedchamber."

She opted for the latter, then followed the woman into the kitchen to help her make it. Mrs. Worsley seemed unsurprised at her assistance and chatted willingly under her questioning. Elizabeth wondered if she had done this before, kept house for a young lady under the protection of a man.

"Yes, ma'am. I was with my last young lady for two years. That was for the Earl of Benning."

"What happened to her, do you know?"

"Ah! She did not turn out well, that one. Ran up the gambling debts and became embroiled in an intrigue with Lord Benning's youngest son. When the old lord found out, he threw them both out, though the Countess made him forgive his son and take him back. But _she_ was cast out with just the clothes on her back and that was it for her. I warned her, but would she listen? She loved him, she said." Mrs. Worsley shook her head in disapproval. "Love! As if that would pay the bills. Captain Londes did not have a farthing to his name other than his army pay and what the Earl allowed him. But then, the gentlemen who intrigue are only too willing to walk away when they've had their fun, I find, so perhaps there was nothing for her even if he had."

"How do you know Mr. Darcy?" Elizabeth asked.

"I do not particularly. But I needed a new place and Mr. Hicks said this would be a good one."

Mr. Hicks was Darcy's attorney, the one who had drafted the documents.

They went upstairs. There was a single bedchamber and separate dressing rooms, and Elizabeth saw that James had put her case into one of the dressing rooms. Mrs. Worsley went over to her case and began unpacking its contents, shaking out the few gowns.

"There is a maid for you, but she will not arrive until tomorrow," Mrs. Worsley explained. "If you need anything, just ask and I will help you."

"When will Mr. Darcy come, do you know?"

"This evening, he said. After six o'clock."

She nodded. That gave her time. Time for what, she did not know, as there was nothing to do. But she was still glad he would not come right away. She had been afraid he would be there when she arrived, with immediate demands.

Mrs. Worsley continued to chatter as she worked, about her life after her husband, a shopkeeper, had died and she had taken up her present occupation. To be sure, she had kept house for respectable families, families with sheltered, pampered daughters, whose greatest worry was whether the latest style in bonnets flattered or offended their faces. But the work she did now was no harder. In fact, it was easier with only one lady to look after, and it paid more besides.

Elizabeth had finished her tray and was wondering how to ask Mrs. Worsley politely to leave so she could rest, but there was no need. As soon as Mrs. Worsley saw that she was finished, the housekeeper picked up her tray and told her to ring if she wanted anything.

Left alone, Elizabeth slipped out of her gown, lay down in her chemise on the day bed in the dressing room and thought about what was to come. She knew a little, mostly from books and discussions with Charlotte, who had been her closest friend and ally since Jane's departure had left her bereft. They had no secrets from each other and they prided themselves on being blunt-spoken.

"What is it like, Charlotte? Does it hurt?" she had asked shortly after Charlotte's marriage to Mr. Collins.

"Only the first time, Eliza, and only at first. After that, not at all, though it can be uncomfortable at times."

"How do you stand it?"

"It is not really so bad, Eliza. Not every man is a Sir Henry. Mr. Collins is perfectly gentle and considerate. And it is over very quickly, especially if I give him any encouragement. He even thanks me afterward."

"Thanks you!"

"Truly, he does. He says, 'Thank you, Mrs. Collins, you are a very good wife.' And then he pats me on the shoulder and goes to sleep."

Astonished and a little disgusted at this intimate picture of Mr. Collins, Elizabeth had burst into laughter. Charlotte laughed with her, then sobered.

"Are you sorry, Elizabeth? That you did not marry him yourself?"

"Me? Marry Mr. Collins?" she said incredulously.

"I know he intended to ask you first, because you are his cousin," Charlotte said, somewhat shamefacedly.

Elizabeth had shaken her head vigorously. Mr. Collins was the last man in the world she could ever be prevailed upon to marry. Immediately after taking possession of Longbourn, he had allowed the Bennet women to remain, but sold off the entire contents of Mr. Bennet's library, decreeing that it contained material unfit for ladies to read.

Elizabeth, who had been away with the Gardiners when the sale happened, had not forgotten nor forgiven. Indeed, that was how her friendship with Charlotte had been cemented, for Charlotte had persuaded her father, Sir William, to purchase a few of the books, the most well-worn and well-read ones. When she showed them to Elizabeth and told her she would keep them for her, Elizabeth had wept for the first time since her father's death. The books remained at Lucas Lodge, for Mr. Sandys also prohibited his womenfolk anything other than conduct manuals, cookery books and the Bible.

"What will you do, Eliza? You must marry sometime," Charlotte asked. "You must not be too choosy or you will find yourself married off to someone like Sir Henry."

This was true. Elizabeth knew Mr. Sandys sought a similar match to Jane's for her. Though Sir Henry did not deign to admit the Sandys family to his circle of acquaintance, he had proved a very profitable connection - both for the investment he made in the Sandys wine business, and the patronage he brought from his other wealthy friends. Elizabeth did not like the wealthy customers Mr. Sandys liked to introduce her to, many old enough to be her father or grandfather.

"I know, Charlotte," she replied in despair. "But I cannot. I cannot do it. It is forever."

"I understand why you did not like Mr. Collins. But someone like him would be best. Someone foolish and simple, who can be made to believe that your wishes are his own."

"Stupid men are the only ones worth marrying after all!" Elizabeth joked.

"It is better than the alternative," Charlotte said practically.

Yes, if that was the only other alternative, Elizabeth thought. But was it?

She thought about Mr. Darcy. Was he a Mr. Collins or a Sir Henry? He did not seem a simpleton like Mr. Collins, but nor did he appear to be ruled by base passion like Sir Henry. If anything, the man was cold and controlled, with too high an opinion of himself and too low of one of others. And he had cheated Mr. Wickham.

Although, she was less disposed to believe Mr. Wickham after what he had attempted to do to her that week. If the imprint of her hand across his face faded quickly, she hoped the tongue-lashing she had given him would ring in his ears for longer. He had given her a wide berth since.

"Why were you so surprised, Eliza?" Charlotte had asked, amused at her disappointment at the discovery of Wickham's libidinousness.

"I believed him to be my friend," she said, stung.

"Men do not pay attention to pretty young women out of a sense of friendship."

No, they did not. She should have known. Even cold and critical Mr. Darcy had only one thing on his mind. But at least he was prepared to pay the price, and he was willing to pay it to her and not Mr. Sandys.

***

By a quarter to six, she was as pretty as her efforts and Mrs. Worsley could make her. She had brought her best gown to wear, but Mrs. Worsley had told her that the men typically preferred to see their ladies dressed informally, so she was in her second-best gown with her hair loosely bound and flowing about her shoulders.

He arrived exactly at six o'clock in his curricle, driving, with a footman behind. Elizabeth, peeking out from between the drapes, saw him toss the reins to the footman and jump out. He strode purposefully for the door, his expensive coat swirling behind him. She retreated and sat down on the chaise lounge nearest the door, taking deep breaths to calm herself.

Mrs. Worsley opened the door on his knock. She rose to face him. He remained standing on the threshold for a moment, tall and intimidating, looking her up and down.

"Good evening," she said, forcing her face into the warmest smile he had ever received from her.

"Elizabeth."

His smile lit his face and banished its usual haughtiness. In two strides, he crossed to her and put his arm around her waist. She froze and tensed in his grip, but he only kissed her on the cheek.

"You look beautiful," he said, stepping back.

"Thank you. May I take your coat?"

"Oh yes, thank you."

She helped him strip it off and after he retrieved some items from its pockets, he let her take it away.

When she returned, it was with Mrs. Worsley, bearing a wine tray. He had seated himself on the sofa and Mrs. Worsley put it down in front of him, then curtsied and said she would be in her chambers if needed but otherwise would retire for the night. Neither Darcy nor Elizabeth noticed her go.

"Will you not sit down?" Darcy asked, indicating the space by him.

She sat down, as far away from him as possible without making it look like she was doing so, then poured them both glasses of wine and handed him his.

"To love," he proposed, raising his glass to her.

She refrained with difficulty from rolling her eyes and instead smiled. "To love."

They clinked glasses and drank. He drank his down so she did as well. Then he took her glass away and put them both down on the table. He moved over, bridging the space between them so that now their knees were touching and they were turned to each other. He stretched his arm across the back of the sofa.

"I have a present for you," he said.

She dimpled. "What is it?"

In silence, he withdrew the Rundell & Bridge box from his pocket and placed it on her lap. She glanced at him, then the box, then carefully lifted the lid. The emeralds sparkled and winked in the candlelight. _Very expensive and easily resaleable_ , Elizabeth thought happily.

"They are lovely," she said with perfect sincerity, then smiled, dipping her eyelashes in what she hoped was a flirtatious manner. "Would you like a kiss for it?"

He fingered one of her curls that lay on her shoulder, wrapping it around his finger. She willed herself not to flinch or pull away. "Two, I think."

"Two?"

"You promised me one when you signed the agreement, but then I did not have an opportunity to see you."

She took a deep breath, then leant forward toward his lips, hoping he would know what to do when she actually made it there. Thankfully, he did, pulling her closer with one hand around her waist. It was an odd sensation, neither pleasant nor unpleasant. When they parted, he smiled in her eyes. "That is one."

Taking another deep breath, she leant in again. This time he met her partway, pulling her close to him with both hands. Remembering her role, she pressed her body against his, to which he responded by pushing his tongue into her mouth. This caused her to squawk in surprise and squeeze his lapels in her hands, but apparently he took it as encouragement, because suddenly she was completely wrapped in his arms and half-lying across the sofa, pushed into it by his weight. She could feel his excitement pressing into her thigh.

_It is over very quickly, especially if I give him any encouragement._ Charlotte's words echoed in her head. She moved her hands off his lapels and put them around his neck instead, pulling him in closer. He groaned and shifted his weight so now he was lying between her legs, his hands sliding down to her buttocks. She wriggled under him and put her hands in his hair.

"Elizabeth," he said in a strangled voice, his breath coming hard and fast. He pulled her hands off him and struggled upright. "I had best go soak the preservative."

It had been part of the agreement, conveyed between their attorneys, that their congress would take place with him in armour2 and that he would supply them. It was not something she had been aware of and she was grateful, though deeply embarrassed, that her attorney had raised it. It was not a legally enforceable term, he had warned her - indeed the bulk of the cohabitation agreement was likely unenforceable on the grounds of immorality, except for the deed that created the settlement - but there was still benefit in putting it in writing to record the understanding.

"They need to soak?" she asked, surprised, and sitting up in turn.

"Yes, for two hours or they cannot be put on."

"Two hours!"

He misread her dismay and grinned. He gave her a quick kiss and stood up to go to the kitchen, walking a little stiffly. "I will be back soon."

Left alone, Elizabeth groaned. Two hours! How was she to make it through such a length of time? She had never been able to spend more than a minute in his company without becoming embroiled in an argument. If she could challenge him to a debate perhaps they could fill the time. _Be it resolved, the men of England have it far better than the women._

He returned and she gave him a falsely cheery smile. He poured them both more wine and handed her a glass. She pretended to drink hers and watched in satisfaction as he downed half his glass. Perhaps if she could get him drunk he would sleep away the next two hours.

"What would you like to do?" she asked, topping up his glass adroitly when he placed it on the table.

"You know what I would like to do," he said, smiling meaningfully at her. He fingered the sleeve of her gown. "But I think I had best refrain or I will not be able to resist you."

"Oh, I am sure you can resist me if you try," she said with an arch smile. "I understand in some circles I am considered barely _tolerable_."

"I cannot imagine who would say that," he said, gazing into her eyes.

She choked back a laugh. He did not remember his insult at the Meryton Assembly! She supposed he went through life issuing such a stream of offence against defenceless young ladies that they all blended into one after a while. However, she could _not_ goad him into an argument or the arrangement would be over before it had begun. What they needed was an activity of some kind.

"I do not suppose you brought a deck of cards with you?" she asked.

"A deck of cards?" he said, surprised at this non sequitur.

"I thought it would make the time pass more quickly." She batted her eyelashes at him.

He smiled at this and said, "I will bring some next time. There is a chessboard here, however. Would you like to play? I can teach you if you do not know how."

"Oh!" She had played chess with Mr. Bennet frequently, and sometimes with Jane, but after Jane had left, there had been nobody in the family who would play with her. "Yes, I would like to play."

He said the chessboard was upstairs and he went to fetch it. When he came down, he set it up at the games table in the room, which was square with four hard chairs. It was a beautiful board, polished mahogany with mother-of-pearl inlays. Elizabeth brought the wine over and seated herself across from him. She graciously accepted the white pieces and made the first move, a conventional opening. He also moved conventionally and the opening proceeded uneventfully.

Elizabeth then deployed her attack and they battled for control of the centre, exchanging pawns and knights and bishops as they went along.

"You are a good player," Darcy commented, hunching down to study the board.

"Thank you; so are you," she returned.

The battle continued, with neither ceding an advantage or gaining a step on the other. The wine bottle was empty and they cracked another. She leant over the board, her eyes sparkling and her cheeks pink with excitement. Darcy watched her in admiration.

He was distracted, she thought. Would he fall for her trap for his queen? She had set it up with a screen of her real intent, hoping to lure him in. _Yes_! He had fallen for it. She moved one of her rooks to lock the trap into place. Either way he went, he would lose his queen to one of her rooks.

She saw his hand reach for his piece, then pause over the board. He had spied her trap! But it was too late, she had him. He looked up and his eyes met hers.

"Very clever," he smiled.

"Thank you," she smiled back, for real this time.

He moved his queen into the path of one of her rooks, his hand resting on it for a moment. Then he lifted it. Almost too quickly, she sent her rook in for the kill.

Again, he smiled at her. She smiled back, pleasantly surprised that he would be such a good loser.

He moved a pawn into place. "Checkmate," he said.

What! Hastily she scanned the board. She groaned. It was all too true. She had been so eager to take his queen that she had failed to notice the peril that had been slowly gathering around her king.

He stood up and went to the kitchen while she studied the chessboard. When he returned, he held the glass of water soaking the preservative. "Two hours, Elizabeth." He smiled warmly at her, his eyes alight with anticipation, and held out his hand.

She stood up. Sighing at the defeat, she gave him her hand and he led her up the stairs.

***

**FOOTNOTES:**

1\. Rundell & Bridge -- or Rundell, Bridge & Rundell as it was known at this point in history -- was the jeweller to royalty and nobility.

2\. Preservatives aka cundums, preventatives and armour were made of sheep's gut scraped thin. They were used by upper class men as both birth control and for the prevention of sexually transmitted diseases. However, they were very expensive, costing a week of wages for the average worker, or even more for the highest quality. This and the fact that they were packaged dried and had to be soaked for two hours before use greatly limited their application. Preservatives would generally not have been used by respectable married couples due to the taint of immorality. A picture and further description can be found here: magazine/archive/2014/12/vsbe-condoms/382245/.


	5. Losing It

_Dearest darling J,_

_I arrived yesterday, safe and sound. My departure was uneventful and our stepfather was informed that I went to visit an elderly and ailing aunt in Scotland and may remain if we suit each other. I know not what he will believe, but at least he has a story to tell the neighbourhood if he wishes for one. Please comfort our family as best you can and help them believe what will cause them least pain. I leave it to your discretion as to how much you wish to reveal, and to whom, but above all, do not risk yourself._

_Mr. D. called yesterday evening. He has met all of his obligations in a satisfactory manner so I do not believe there is any cause for concern. We did have an initial misunderstanding as to a fundamental condition of our arrangement …_

***

At the doorway to the bedchamber, he pulled on her hand to draw her closer. Elizabeth, conceding his superiority in the matter of chess and conscious of his rights under their arrangement, allowed herself to be drawn. She raised her face to his when he bent down for a kiss. When his arms encircled her and he pressed her into the door jamb, she put her hands around his neck. The door jamb dug into her spine a little, but she ignored it.

"Elizabeth," he said huskily, his hands smoothing her gown down her backside. "Yes?" she asked, but he said nothing further, only continued kissing her, his mouth travelling down from her lips to her throat to her bosom. She arched against him and tangled her fingers into his hair and was happy to find he appeared satisfied with this level of encouragement. Or perhaps _satisfied_ was not the right word. _Animated_ would be more accurate, she thought. Or perhaps, _inflamed_.

One of his hands touched her breast, causing her to jump. _This is what you bargained for_ , she thought, forcing herself to relax. At her sigh, he reached with both hands for her breasts and began kissing them. It tickled and she squirmed against him, trying not to laugh or pull away.

"Oh God," he said. His hands groped for the buttons at the back of her gown. He had stopped kissing her and was now looking at her. Uncomfortable under the intensity of his scrutiny, she glanced away, into the bedchamber.

"Do you wish to go to the bed?" she asked, her gaze falling on it.

She felt the squeeze of his fingers on her breast, then he said, emphatically, " _Yes_."

He led her into the room, closing the door behind them, then to the bed. He sat her down on the edge of it, then finished unbuttoning the back of the gown and raised it over her head. He untied her stays next, slipping them off her shoulders, but when he made to lift her chemise above her waist, she put a hand on his.

"No," she said.

He smiled at her and contented himself with lifting her chemise to her hips, leaving her thighs bared. Then he knelt to remove her slippers and stockings. _Be easy_ , she told herself as he stared at her bare legs. She was breathing quickly through nervousness, but when he lifted his eyes to hers, she gave him a bright smile and a nod of encouragement. His eyes fell to her thighs again and she pressed her knees together in nervousness at the heat of his gaze.

He rose off his knees and his lips met hers again, his hands squeezing her thighs and stroking her bare hips. She had to hold onto his shoulders to keep from falling backward onto the bed, but she did not mind so much; anything was better than his disconcerting stares. Then she felt his thumbs dipping between her thighs, in towards her secret place.

"Mm … mm," she said against his lips and writhed under his hands. Apparently he took this as further encouragement, for one hand slid almost entirely between her thighs while the other clutched her hip, holding her in place. Whatever he was doing, it was definitely obscene and not something Charlotte had mentioned to her. On the other hand, it was not entirely unpleasant, and she supposed such things could not be helped. She allowed him to nudge her thighs a little further apart and sighed, letting the tension ebb.

Suddenly his mouth left hers. Her eyes flew open to see that he had stood up and was going to retrieve the glass holding the soaking preservative from where he had left it at the table beside the door. He placed it on the bedside table and sat down beside her on the bed and removed his shoes and stockings.

"Will you help me undress?" he asked as he untied his cravat.

She nodded and helped him shrug out of his tailcoat, then worked on his waistcoat buttons, dropping them on the table. He removed his watch chain, pocket watch and sleeve buttons. He threw his waistcoat then his shirtsleeves over a nearby chair, leaving him bare-chested. His trousers were next. She reached with trepidation for the first button, but apparently not quickly enough for him, for he batted her hands aside and ripped open the fall of his trousers. Then he was on top of her as he stripped off the rest of his trousers, his arousal throbbing against her thigh and his weight pressing her into the mattress.

"I want you, Elizabeth."

She was not sure what to say to this, so she murmured - awkwardly in her mind, although he seemed too absorbed in kissing her various body parts to mind -- "I want you as well."

At this, he briefly rolled off her to help himself to the preservative. She gasped a little in shock at the sight of his full arousal as he donned the armour, then her courage rose at this attempt to intimidate her. It only hurts at first, Charlotte had said. She would have to trust Charlotte. In any case, there seemed to be little turning back now.

His weight fell on her again, his lips on her lips, his hands pushing her chemise up past her waist. Her hands were between them, pressed against his upper chest, and she willed herself to hold them still and not push him away. He settled himself between her legs and she half-clenched her hands, bracing herself for the assault. It came swiftly.

"Ow … Ow! … OW!" she screamed. Before she knew what she was about, she had kicked him and pushed at him with all of her might. He rolled off of her.

"My God, what is the matter?" Darcy cried.

"I am sorry. I did not think it would hurt so much," she said, dashing involuntary tears from her eyes and struggling to sitting position.

"Did not think _what_ would hurt so much …"

Elizabeth checked her person and the sheets, looking for blood. There was none. Did that mean it was _still_ not over? When she looked up, Darcy was also sitting up looking at her, an odd expression on his face. Why did he constantly have to stare at her, she thought in irritation.

"Elizabeth," he said at last, very quietly. "Are you a maiden?"

"Of course I am a maiden!" she snapped. Then his words sank in and she said indignantly, "You thought I was not?"

"Erm. I was given to understand that no maiden would make me such an offer. That only a woman with certain … er … _appetites_ would prefer a relationship of cohabitation to marriage."

"You thought I had appetites?" she said, insulted.

"You did not _act_ like a maiden."

She opened her mouth to give furious reply, but as she did, she remembered her efforts throughout the evening to encourage him.

"You should not have assumed," she said finally, folding her arms across her chest crossly.

He merely nodded dazedly. When he did not speak further, she tossed her head.

"Does it make a difference?"

"A difference?"

"That I am a maiden."

He shook his head as if to clear it. "It would certainly have resulted in a significant _variance_ in my approach."

"In what way?"

"I would have proceeded far more slowly, for one. In a calm and controlled manner."

"Why can you not do that now?" she asked, holding her hands out in appeal.

His eyes flew up to meet hers, then moved to her lips, which were swollen and tender from all of the kissing. They slid lingeringly down her person, then stopped at the hem of her chemise, bunched above her hips.

"Excuse me," he said, then bolted for the door of his dressing room.

***

Elizabeth watched him go in dismay. Did he not want her anymore, simply because she was a maiden? Had he expected a woman with greater experience and abilities than she had? Everything had been going so well. If he withdrew now, all would be for nought. There was no blood anywhere; there was no doubt that she remained _virgo intacta_ , and her attorney had warned her that this was the key condition that needed to be lifted to make it impossible for him to unwind the trust he had created and take the money back.

What should she do now? She could not return to Mr. Sandys's house, pretending nothing had happened. Could she go to the Gardiners? Her heart rebelled against the idea. The Bennets had overtaxed them already, what with the dowry Mr. Sandys had demanded to marry her mother, and then the expense of the many, vain attempts to locate Lydia, which Mr. Sandys had refused to assist in. Her aunt and uncle had been very good, but while they were human there must be resentment. They had their own children to provide for after all.

She began to feel angry. It was not fair. She had risked so much and been so careful. She had never represented herself _not_ to be a maiden. She had understood that men preferred maidens! What terrible luck that she would happen across the one man in England with strange and warped tastes.

Or was it her fault? Perhaps she had not encouraged him enough. But what more could she have done? She supposed kicking him was a bad idea, but she had done it unthinkingly before she could stop herself. Oh why could she not have controlled herself better!

Swiftly she began assessing the options. There was the remainder of the forty pounds he had given her, the emeralds and the carriage. She could sell the carriage; it was supposed to be hers. That would give her enough money to start a new life, perhaps in America or Canada. But that would mean leaving Jane. And she could not transport the carriage, especially if he took the servants and horses, for the latter were not supposed to be hers, nor did she have a way for tending to them if they were. Would a carriage dealer be willing to come to her?

While Elizabeth's mind raced, the door opened and Darcy re-entered the room in a dressing gown and holding another one over his arm. He draped it over her shoulders, then sat down on the edge of the bed. Elizabeth, relieved to be covered again even if momentarily, pulled it on and belted it tightly at her waist.

"Why did you go just now?" she asked when he was silent.

He looked sheepish. "I, er, needed a moment to gather myself." Then he looked at her. "Elizabeth, we must talk."

"What about?" she said warily.

"About you being a maiden."

"Did you not think I was a maiden when you asked me to marry you?"

"Yes."

"If you were prepared to do it then, why are you not now?"

He looked at her quizzically. "That is not the issue."

"Then what is it?"

He was a silent for a moment, then asked, "Have you any experience with men, Elizabeth?"

"What do you mean - experience?"

"Has any man ever touched you - kissed you?"

She thought of Mr. Wickham, accosting her alone in the lane that evening. "Some have tried. But I did not permit it."

"No prior attachments? No claims to your heart?"

She shook her head. "No." At his momentary silence, she added, "Why do you ask?"

He smiled and took her hand. "It is nothing. Only I did not fully understand. I am not sure I understand now, in fact. Why if you are yet untouched are you willing to enter into an arrangement such as we have, yet unwilling to marry me? Why not simply agree to my proposal?"

Because I do not like you, she thought. But she doubted he would welcome the truth. And after this evening, her feelings did not seem so strong as to warrant the word _dislike_. At least, not strong dislike, although she still found his presence burdensome.

"Because I scarcely know you - and I had not intended to marry, ever, if I could help it." When this only produced a further quizzical look from Darcy, she added firmly, "And perhaps for other reasons, but they are my own reasons and need not concern you. Mr. Darcy, we are here now. We made a bargain and I relied upon your honour as a gentleman and came to you in good faith. If you intend to withdraw at this juncture, I confess I will feel hardly dealt with."

He shook his head. "I have no intention of withdrawing. However, if you do not feel that you know me, I wonder if we should take a little more time for you to come to know me. For my part, I must confess" - his eyes crinkled in a little smile - "that I would not mind a little more time to consider the position. I was not expecting you to be a maiden."

Perhaps _he_ did not mind, but _she_ certainly did! She could not continue in this state of uncertainty. And his words were confusing. Did he want to, or did he not? If he did, what was the sense of waiting? It sounded suspiciously like equivocation to her, and her attorney had warned her to be on guard for such things.

She must have revealed her dismay, for Darcy asked, "You have another preference?"

She nodded. "I would prefer to proceed. If your intention is to do so in any case, as you have stated, then it seems to me there is nothing to be lost in making this a settled thing."

"I am not averse to that," he said quickly. "And now that I know that you are a maiden, I will certainly endeavour to be more careful. I had not intended to injure or cause you pain."

"I understand it is a matter of some inevitability at first," she said in a resigned tone. "It is partly why I prefer to have it over with."

He looked relieved. "Well, if you understand _that_ , and do not judge the entire proceedings by the first time, then my way is easier."

She nodded. "I understand." She added as an afterthought, but with genuine sincerity, "I am sorry I kicked you."

He chuckled. "Fair recompense, I suppose. Luckily, your aim was fortuitous or waiting might have been in order whether I would or no."

He seemed to be making a joke, but she was not sure she understood it. 

"So we will call it even and begin again," he continued. "Perhaps with a kiss. May I kiss you?"

She looked at him. She had always thought him handsome, and he was even more so now, when he did not look haughty and arrogant but instead tender and somewhat sheepish. The only person who looked at her with such tenderness now was Jane. Despite the dim evening light, she noticed that there were green flecks in his brown eyes.

"Yes," she said.

***

_… but dearest J, as that issue was amicably resolved to the mutual satisfaction of both parties, I do not believe it will pose any obstacle. Mr. D is not entirely as I expected, but I find that is to the good and have no complaints. All my love to the end of time, and for your own safety, do not forget to dispose of this note directly after you read it,_

_L_

© 2017-20 by "LucyQ" at AO3 and Meryton.com and LucyQT at fanfiction.net. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED


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